Much More Than A Fairy-Tale
by Corelli Sonatas
Summary: Michael Gregson returns to Downton, and Edith is beside herself with joy and fear. But the German government is not finished with Mr. Gregson, and the Drewe family is not ready to give up a child they now call their own. Through Mary's point of view, Michael and Edith's most eventful and emotional two months are unveiled.
1. One

I believe it is fair to conclude that the past few months were a bleary mixture of confusion, distress, and joy. Hardly could I record onto paper the rich, numerous details that have transpired in the abbey; and yet it only seems right to have this unimaginably overwhelming chapter of my family's life in ink.

...

On Friday, the twentieth of June, Michael Gregson arrived in the driveway. Not in a car with a chauffeur, not even in a car _without_ a chauffeur: simply, he arrived on foot in front of the most charming mansion in Yorkshire.

I was the one to let him in. When at first I heard the knock on the door, I wondered whether Carson or James would meet the uninvited guest - since we always greet our guests here, so long as they are invited and expected - but, when I heard then _several_ knocks on our noble front-door, I wondered whether it was in my place to answer it. Seconds passed and nothing wavered: the strange presence of a loud beating against the door remained. And so I took it upon myself to venture downstairs to open it.

My eyes met the shabbiest figure I'd seen in years to appear outside my home. For the silent seconds during which neither of us uttered a word, my heart pounded with the notion that I'd have to scream for help; for Michael Gregson looked completely dangerous, with his torn amber hat and frighteningly ragged attire. I blinked. His mouth opened at last.

"Do you...do you remember me?" I figured the man's first language had been German, because he had such a thick accent that I could hardly process his interrogative. "I beg your pardon?" I replied, otherwise speechless by this random encounter. To my fortune, Edith had been walking past the entry-way and noticed my dilemma.

She halted violently in her steps; I heard her and turned. "Ring for Carson," instructed I. The sweat had begun to invade my brow; how was I to deal with this man who could very well pose a threat to my family? After all, he had begun to smile. I take it the man hadn't smiled for a while, because his chapped lips curved painfully into it.

Suddenly I noticed where his eyes were fixed: they stared at something behind me. "What can I do for you?" I questioned him, though my words had been a waste. The stranger started through the doorway and I could not muster the courage to speak against his action.

He limped. Edith's countenance was not in the slightest bit afraid; she practically _accepted_ this man's approach toward her, and her eyes gleamed with the purest happiness I'd ever beheld in her presence. "Edith," the man breathed. His voice was scratchy and thickly German, but I could understand this one word he'd uttered better than anything else he'd tried.

I experienced a _snap_ in my brain - not the kind which brings about pain and internal swearing - and it occurred to me almost instantly who this man was. Edith verbalised my realisation: "Michael!"

They embraced in a manner uncommon to my lot: tight grasps on one another, accompanied by a scandalous joining of lips; panting, laughing, crying, and sighing were all there too. And still I watched, feeling mercurial emotions contemplating my mood. _Should I be happy that this man - who left my dear sister heartbroken for an entire year - appears before Edith without warning?_ These thoughts I could not continue, however; for Michael turned to me and apologised. "Please forgive me, Lady Mary, for worrying your sister Edith for all this time. I've been in Munich, seeking the right to divorce my oblivious wife. Finally I can ask Edith that which I've been dying to do for too long: will you marry me, Edith Crawley?"

My pupils dilated and my maternal instincts kicked in. "Mr. Gregson, please! Can you not understand how very abrupt this all is? My sister has thought you _dead,_ and you merely arrive at the front door to immediate a _proposal!_ Is she some sort of puppet that belongs to you?"

"Mary!" my sister interjected. "I knew why Michael was gone, and I am elated to find him alive!"

"I am so sorry, my darling," Michael repeated to Edith. "I can't imagine what you've endured, or how you've endured life with such worry as I have caused for you -"

As much as I was delighted to see Edith happy, I had to intervene: "Before you continue, Mr. Gregson - and please believe me when I tell you that I am glad you are well -"

"Only glad?" chastised my sister bitterly. I did not blame her - I _still_ don't - but my voice took the initiative to project once more. "Mr. Gregson, this entire family deserves to have you in its company for a proper interrogation. We all know what sorts of mental suffering Edith has lived with. I know you are a decent person, so let us all be rational and discuss this with my parents."

Michael nodded, and this surprised me. "Of course, Lady Mary. I do not wish to impose upon your day, however, so I am completely at your family's disposal." He squeezed Edith's hand, whereupon they looked at one another with simultaneous fear and happiness. For a moment I remembered that I had no husband anymore, and that these two would likely marry and have children and become a wonderful family. It was a bitter-sweet thought I'd experienced, but I kept poised and led Michael into the library. Edith held onto her editor's arm the entire time, and the sight of her helping the physically-ailing man reminded me of Matthew's war injury.

How I found the ability to understand Michael and Edith's grief, I now truly comprehend. I was staring at Matthew and Mary Crawley, before death tore them apart.

And so I prayed that the same horrible fate would not come upon my sister and Mr. Gregson.


	2. Two

All I can recall about that which followed Mr. Gregson's illusory arrival is how unbelieving everyone had been. Once I'd rung for Carson to bring our disheveled guest some tea, Edith demanded that I go immediately upstairs to find Papa and Mama. "We can tell Carson to bring them here," I reasoned. But my sister's reason - should I even consider it to be so - felt otherwise.

"Go," she stressed once more. "Bring Tom as well. I have a confession to make to our family." Michael instantly turned to look at her; she was already seated adjacent to him on the sofa, which sat across from the library fireplace.

Her assertion brought chills to my body. "What confession?" I asked sternly, feeling the motherly tone sneaking into my voice. Edith is, after all, my younger sister; and I felt more responsible for her than I'd done before Sybil's death.

"Mary," my younger sister pressed, "must we start this? I know the last thing Michael needs -"

"All right, all right," I consented, tempering my irked tone to a degree slightly lower than usual. I made haste.

…

Naturally, Mama and Papa had looked at me with open mouths and incredulous eyes. "Are you certain this man is Michael Gregson?" Papa questioned after seconds of pure staring at me. It had made me uncomfortable, but the significance of that moment is emphasised in Mama's remark shortly afterward:

"This is probably another Patrick-Crawley actor. How can we know -"

"It _is_ Michael Gregson," I'd reassured my parents. "Both I and Edith agree. This man speaks with a German accent -"

"Which could very well mean he's informed on Mr. Gregson's last-known status…"

On and on our battle had gone, until finally my saviour (Carson) entered Mama and Papa's bedroom with an announcement: "Lady Edith wishes to see you all."

…

That afternoon was one of sincere empathy for Edith. She cried the entire time, save for the few laughs of joy in which she and Michael indulged. But Papa was the true cynic that evening.

We'd telephoned Isobel and Granny, who were both so stunned that they later relayed to us how difficult it had been for them to come to the abbey.

When at last we were all gathered in the drawing room, I took the initiative to join Edith and Michael in conversation. Our guest donned the most opposite clothing to that which he'd worn in the afternoon: Michael's solid black shoes reflected the chandelier lights; his smart, charcoal-coloured tie complimented his radiant face, which looked nowhere but at Edith; his washed-and-groomed brunette hair made the man appear finer than I'd thought myself to have been. "It warms my heart to see you so well again, Mr. Gregson," commented I.

He smiled and Edith and squeezed her hand. "It certainly feels better to have explained the entire thing to Lord and Lady Grantham," he admitted. Michael beamed at our surroundings (which were much more charming, I assumed, than that to which he was accustomed on his way to Downton. The man had told us about his unmerciful journey that had begun in Dover, where his ship had docked).

Carson was prompt with his announcement that dinner was waiting in the dining-room. "You will sit next to Edith, Mr. Gregson," I promised the man. Again he smiled warmly at me.

"You are very kind, Lady Mary. Might you call me Michael?"

"Of course; then you must call me Mary."

Edith's countenance was priceless. "We truly appreciate it, Mary," she declared vaguely. But I knew exactly what she'd implied.

And to this day I've held that kindness highly, for Michael and for Edith…and for their daughter.

…

"I still don't quite understand it," Papa announced a second time. It had been clear to me that he was not entirely prepared to welcome a man who'd risked his life in a foreign land for the warrant to divorce his memory-barren wife. My father had his grasp on the neck of the wine glass. "You had to go all the way to Germany for the right to divorce her?"

"Unfortunate as the entire thing is, yes," replied Michael gravely. He resembled in no shape or form the man who'd presented himself to me in the drawing-room. "And I do not blame any of you, should you think it wrong or completely dishonourable. My wife has no memory of our union; she lives with nurses who care for her and others with mental illnesses. I can't say it does not sadden me… I apologise for the strong accent." I'd been watching as several members at the table grew increasingly confused by Michael's speech. Granny had not been one of those people, however.

"Oh, no," she assured Michael, "I quite like how it sounds. Perhaps - if we all developed foreign accents like yours, Mr. Gregson - we could bring this country closer to a peace treaty with our Eastern neighbors! After all, they might believe us to be more German than we look!" Granny chuckled, and I remember it being painstakingly difficult not to join in. The only thing was that no one else thought to laugh with her.

Minutes of question-and-answer conversation transpired, and the only two who'd been talking were Papa and Michael Gregson. I could tell that this had grown taxing on Edith; and, before I had the breath out of me to interrupt a doubtful Papa, my sister took the reins of the conversation. "Please let's not drown Michael in such harsh interrogation, Papa! Besides, everyone else must have things to say." She gazed upon all others seated at the dining table; when her eyes locked with mine, I smiled and cleared my throat.

"Edith, wasn't there something you wanted all to hear? I thought I remember you mentioning a confession…" My words I immediately regretted; my sister's cheeriness had withered into dark, cold worry. "Forgive me," I confessed quickly, attempting to erase the misinformation from my family's memories. "It is very nice to know that all are here now, safe and sound -"

"But not all," blurted my younger sister. Papa cocked his head; Mama and Granny subjected full attention to Edith once more. Tom and Isobel, who were seated adjacent to one another and on my left, shot expectant looks at me. They thought I knew what she'd meant, but I was just as unsure about my mother- and brother-in-laws' gestures as they were about Edith's assertion.

Worst of all was Michael's expression. I still wonder whether he'd known before Edith confessed it that she was thinking about her daughter. I noticed him look down at his lap, and his hand brought my sister's with it. "If it be permitted, I would like to speak with Edith before anything more is -"

"No, Michael," my sister argued. Her face was hot with concern and anxiety, and Mama spoke up on behalf of her daughter's diminishing well-being. "Edith, you don't look well…"

"Cora, I believe Edith's only a bit overwhelmed," piped up my mother-in-law. I don't think anyone needed a nurse's opinion on the matter; it was obvious that my sister suffered from over-active nerves. Tom and I exchanged glances. Even my brother-in-law was experiencing the uncomfortable anxiety of our environment.

Granny proposed her own solution to Edith's troubles. "Edith dear, if there is something we must all hear, do let it out. I can promise you'll feel at ease once you do."

"No!" interjected Michael abruptly, scaring my grandmother out of her wits. Our panicking guest immediately settled down. "That is… Thank you, Lady Grantham, but I feel it most appropriate if Edith and I discuss matters we have not had the chance to…" His voice disappeared, and something convinced me that Michael Gregson had begun to allow Edith's thoughts to become his own. The poor man - and I sincerely mean it - lost all composure. His shoulders sank; his face suffered uncomfortable, cold sweat; his eyes saddened; and all joy that had since existed in this fearless, devoted man turned to dust. I watched dumbly as Papa and Tom stood from their seats. I did not know why they'd done it until the heartfelt voice of Michael Gregson spoke: "Oh, my darling… Edith, please -"

My sister's tears sang the lamentations of her sufferings - and I'd not yet acquired the knowledge of any of them: not her sinful night with married Michael Gregson, not her moments of contemplation about whether or not to abort her baby, not any of those things which she'd nearly endured on her own. Had Rosamund been there in the dining-room, I should have felt more at ease because someone would have had the reason to comfort my sister.

But no one knew, and even Michael's understandings were limited. He'd been away for over a year.

Whilst the men stood up from their chairs - Carson and James were included in that respectful gesture toward Edith - Mama and Isobel hurried over to my sister to wrap her in their motherly embraces. Perhaps it did help her, but I wouldn't have tolerated such a thing had I been in Edith's position. The entire scene was purely pitiful.

At last I left my seat behind and rounded the dining table to approach Michael. "Please bring Edith into the library," I instructed him carefully. To this day I am thankful for speaking so softly to him; the man had been on the verge of collapsing into my arms, and that would not have been very respectable - neither would I have recovered easily from him fainting in my arms.

"I must be alone with Edith before we talk about it," Michael explained to me between choking on sobs. That distorted image of a man who is so naturally dignified never ceases to haunt me, and I grieve Matthew through it. Michael was so _torn_ - torn by the knowledge of Edith's battle-scars - that he could not enjoy the prospect of being a father. Again, Edith's child was still a secret to me.

It remained that way until everyone had gathered in the library…for an extraordinarily emotional night.


	3. Three

My heart pounded against my chest; I could literally feel its intensity at work in my body, finally sensing the tragic nature of what would soon become the family's most memorable evening. Everyone left the unfinished dinner, one person at a time. Tom and Mama were among the first to help my broken sister out of the room; Michael seemed scared once Edith had left, but I held onto him and led his trembling body out of the dining-room.

There is no doubt in my mind that Granny and Isobel were disturbed at first; as my eyes had trailed from one woman to the other, I could see the image of utter shock in their frozen countenances. Papa and Carson (because Carson naturally cannot refrain from being a courteous gentleman) helped my grandmother out of her chair, which prompted my mother-in-law to act in kind.

What came next is perhaps the most vivid chapter of the past few months that my mind managed to record; the entire thing was rather dramatic, and so I shall put forth my best effort to include the family's conversation verbatim:

"Edith, you must tell us what is going on," Papa urged of my sister, having not yet settled himself on one of the many seating-options in the library. "Please, Michael," added he, "I want my daughter to answer first. Only afterward may you elucidate."

Michael Gregson had never been a more demanding person. "I must speak alone with Edith, Lord Grantham. She is not ready to explain that which is unknown to all of you -"

"What is unknown?" Granny chimed in, straightening her cane with her left hand and readjusting herself on the sofa. Something had convinced me at the time that my grandmother knew about Edith's - and now Michael's - secret. But the conversation took an unexpected turn:

"It's too obvious now, Michael," Edith sobbed, shaking her head with excessive force. I - who had taken a responsible place next to my sister on the adjacent sofa - managed to utter words of comfort to my dear sister. "Whatever this is, Edith, no one understands the magnitude nor the content of its secret. I agree with Michael." My eyes jetted to the teary face of Edith's editor, eager to assure him that, at the very least, I was on their side.

The seriousness in his countenance put forth profound effort to smile at me. "Thank you, Mary. Edith..." All faces were upon Michael as he walked to where my sister and I were seated. Upon Edith's acceptance of his offered hand, the two of them slowly exited the room; it was as if they had aged fifty years and were in dire need of one another's support to move themselves across the floor.

I would have preferred silence after they'd left, but Papa chose to interrogate me instead. "What is all this about?" he asked me. I shook my head at him - at everyone in the library - because I had no valuable information to offer. "I'm as clueless as -"

I'd stopped: not because Papa had interrupted me, and certainly not because I had grown intimidated by the congregation's rapt attention upon my lips. And while the latter of these would have been quite likely, it was not what had caused my sudden gasp for breath.

The real source... Heavens, it startled me; if one ever has to suffer what I'd done in that moment...

I'd heard Michael shout, having been followed by banging of his fist upon some wooden object in the hallway. Edith's piercing cry took all breath out of my system, and I whipped my head round toward the doorway. "Papa -"

"Stay here, Mary. All of you, just..." My father's sweat had come pouring out from his facial glands, and for once I could detect the age in his features. "Remain here!" he commanded again.

I disobeyed him. So did Mama, and so did Tom (who'd put a hand on my shoulder). "My sister -" I protested, but he nodded and kept within centimetres of me.

Fortunately my brother-in-law's tightened security on me was unnecessary; when we found Michael and Edith outside the library, they had their hands on each other's faces, both weeping quietly. Papa bellowed to the man, "Get away from my daughter!" whilst Mama hurried over to my younger sister. Michael withdrew.

"I've told him everything, Papa," confessed a sobbing Edith. She stifled tears before continuing: "He has the right to be angry... God knows I'd have been, if -" She'd stopped herself, almost as if a needle had pricked through her skin at that moment. "Michael learned that I have..."

Whether or not "sisterly intuition" exists, I had the strangest epiphany. With my heart thumping and my nerves buzzing, I stepped forward to embrace my sister. "Oh, Edith," I whispered, and it was then that she knew I knew.

Michael stared at us for two seconds; he then averted his gaze toward my parents, who sat ever still in the darkness. "I believe," the editor announced, "that I have a confession to make. For Edith."

My sister pulled away from me. I admired her beautiful emerald eyes, how they shone with hope in the midst of such an emotionally crippling time. "I'm here," promised I.

And I was. I will always be around for my dear sister.

As my sister compiled the strength to lock arms with Michael Gregson, my overwhelmed Papa and Mama exchanged glances. Michael raised his head, straightened his dinner-jacket, and cleared his throat. "Lord and Lady Grantham... You have a new granddaughter."

"Good _God! _man, how _dare_ you play with us in such an insensitive -"

"Robert, he's telling the truth... Oh my..." One millimetre more and my mother's eyes would have fallen out of their sockets. Horrendous was the sight of my parents' shock, but then again: such news is never relayed so feasibly. Someone is bound to get hurt.

"How about we talk in the library?" I suggested softly, now holding my mother's hand. "Edith, why don't we all -"

"I think everyone needs to breathe for a moment, Mary." It was Tom. I turned round to find him isolated in the corner of the hallway. Internally I apologised for forgetting about him. He proceeded: "Michael, is there anything that you wish to tell Lord and Lady Grantham?"

"Yes," responded Gregson, "indeed... If you'll excuse my..." He wiped the sweat from his brow and the tears from his eyes. "Thank you. First, I must assume full responsibility for the action that has caused -"

"Where is this granddaughter you call mine?" Papa snapped. In his tone of voice I sensed the effects of two losses in our family. My heart yearned for Sybil, because something about that late sister of mine had always the power to calm us.

At this point Edith was uncontrollably torn; her anxiety brought about trembling, and her unsteadily high heart rate made her appear miserable. I attempted both to return my sister to reality and to answer my father's query. "Edith, darling, do you know where the baby is? Is she here?"

Michael watched as his love shook her head, explaining, "She is not here at Downton. She is with the farmer called Drewe... You remember him...?" I saw the way by which Michael's face turned to stone, most likely due to the fact that his child was not yet within his reach.

And I could see how much Mama ached, how uncomfortable Tom felt, how perplexed Papa had become over the course of seconds. "Drewe cares for her?" I verified. "For how long -?"

"How old is she?" Papa had been the one to ask this most unwanted question. Edith covered her face in shame; I presumed she'd experienced a flashback in time to her night of intimacy with Michael. As for the father himself, he took a step toward Edith and rubbed her back. "Four months," proclaimed he. I admired the smile that he imparted to us shortly after this assertion. "She's four months," he repeated.

Edith lifted her chin to look upon Michael's countenance. What she encountered in his features amazed her, but it too was a stimulant for tears. My body tingled with longing for the only man who could ever evoke such emotion.

Minutes passed in silence, during which each one of us embraced with Edith and made amends with Michael. I was surprised when Papa acted in kind toward the London newspaper-editor. It felt that, not so long ago, my father and I had despised Mr. Gregson's pursuit of Edith.

Circumstances were so different now.

...

"When will you have the wedding, dear?" Granny asked once we'd all reconvened in the library. Mama had given Carson orders to leave the room alone until all the guests had left.

My sister frowned at Granny, something she so seldom does. "Why on earth are we talking about weddings when Michael hasn't seen the baby? I think he ought to know his daughter before any of that -"

"But you are to be married within the next few weeks, my dear," Mama assured her, squeezing Papa's hand so as to keep him sane. He was not easily processing everything, I could tell.

"Yes, Mama, but can't we settle things first? Michael needs a place in which to live; no doubt they've sold his property -"

"We can find him a cottage on this estate," offered Tom. I turned to give my brother-in-law an approving look, but Papa shot the prospect to the ground.

"Do you think that I feel comfortable with the idea that my daughter has had sexual relations with Mr. Gregson? Why would I give up a good cottage -"

"Now, Robert," chastised Granny. "What has happened has happened; now we must be wise and consider this from Michael's side. Would it be fair to let him go? He has no money, after all -"

Michael shook his head severely. "I don't ask for any money, Lord Grantham. All I wish is for your daughter's hand -"

"Clearly that _must_ happen, Michael, else we all want to live in humiliation for the remainder of our lives!" Papa dug his fingers into his temples, surrendering to silence for the following few minutes.

I couldn't bear it anymore. "Michael, we _will_ give you money, because we know that Edith depends upon you for many things... For love, for comfort -"

Isobel - who had thus far remained unrepresented in her seat upon the sofa - took to interrupting me. "But, Mary, Robert has the right to be concerned about his daughter. Mr. Gregson, you vanished from England - perhaps knowingly , since Edith was aware of your plans - but you nevertheless chose to make a mysterious disappearance from the country. Lord Grantham, I am certain -" Isobel turned her head to face Papa - "wants to insure Edith's safety. And in order to do that, well..." She'd intended to conclude her thoughts, but Michael looked ready to speak; so my mother-in-law graciously let him.

"I agree, Mrs. Crawley. Which is why I ask for a month, at the most, until I marry Edith. I don't wish to marry her merely because it is our duty to unite as mother and father of a shared child." Michael lifted my sister's arm and brought it into his lap, placing his own hands over it to gently massage. "I am honoured to have the affection of this incredibly wonderful young woman here. I don't deserve her -"

"Amen to that," mumbled my father.

" - but perhaps none of us deserve our spouses, because something is always _wrong_ with us...whether we lie to people, or treat others badly, or act rashly. What I am attempting to say is this: whilst there be all these negative aspects to human beings, we must celebrate the love that prevails within us, the love that we give to one another... And I will devote my most ardent feelings to Edith, and to our child."

Isobel was beaming; I, too, let out a grin, painful though it was to smile without darling Matthew at my side. My eyes trailed to my left, as Papa and Mama were seated on the same sofa as I. Their gazes were upon Edith and Michael in the opposite sofa, and although they were not smiling, I could sense there existed another form of happiness inside them.

I believe they were glad that Edith had finally found someone who dearly loved her. More than that: a man who had sacrificed everything - even his status among my family - to be with Edith.

Perhaps Papa didn't show his satisfaction at first, but he had come to shake hands firmly with Michael by the time Granny and Isobel had decided to leave the house. I remained with Tom in the library as Edith and my parents led our guests out of the room. "I am at loss for words," I admitted to my brother-in-law. He smiled and vaguely replied, "I understand."

Mama and Papa came into my bedroom later that night, eager to know how I'd realised Edith's secret before they had done. "Sisters have a special connection with one another," I guessed.

All I could wonder that night - as I studied the blankness of the ceiling and the blackness of the bedroom - was how I'd manage to endure the following days, weeks, and months. Certainly what was to come, I'd thought, would not be simple to face. But change would have been inevitable, I soon recognised.

I had the pleasure to meet my second-niece the following day.


	4. Four

Breakfast had never been so heart-wrenching. I hardly concentrated on consuming the food on my plate; too distracting was the sight of Michael and Edith sitting across from me at the dining-table, silently weeping and holding onto one another. It was not something Papa or Mama watched, thank goodness - since they'd requested breakfast in their room - but I could not block out the selfish thought in my mind that whispered, _Why are you here?_

I'd resolved to scoop up some of the eggs on my plate, when I suddenly heard him ask my sister, "Have you named her? I mean to say...our daughter..."

My utensil fell with a _clang_ onto the table. Edith looked away from her gaze upon Michael, startled beyond words. "Forgive me," repented I. To my good fortune, my sister returned her attention to Michael's wondering eyes. "I named her after she was born... In Switzerland... Marigold."

Trying not to stare dumbfounded at them, I reached for my glass of juice. But I heard Michael's nostrils inhale the delicate air, and suddenly he and my sister were engaged in a very close embrace - at the _dining-table._

Forgive me if I sound harsh about this particular moment in time; perhaps my irritated tone is due to the jealousy I experienced upon listening to Edith and Michael discussing their child. You see, the mere _talk_ of children puts me on edge because my own is without his father. Here I had experienced first-hand the exchange of wonderful news - yes, to reveal the name of one's child is quite precious - and it had hurt me.

I surrender myself to jealousy; I accept the truth that my feelings toward Edith and Michael will never cease to be without jealousy. But I lacked something on that day in the dining-room: respect for their exploits.

I could not respect them as they'd wrapped their arms round one another; not as they'd gazed upon each other with ardent feelings of love and longing; not even as they'd acknowledged I was there in that very same room with them, and apologised.

Marigold is a darling; I am not angry with or opposed to her in any form. I also do not feel inclined to condemn her parents, who committed the very same act for which I'd suffered shame and humiliation years since. No, I am not jealous of Marigold or Michael or Edith.

I am but jealous of their luck. The luck I never had.

Edith had thought Michael to have been dead! And then, out of nowhere, he arrived at our door in far better shape than I'd found my battered-up, bloodied husband. _That is agony._

God knows I don't deserve that sort of luck. After all, Edith has been harmed by many a suitor. She's never found peace with that universe, and my heart goes out to dear Michael Gregson for treating my sister with the utmost care.

But, on to the recollection.

...

The farmer who had kindly agreed to raise Marigold Gregson as his own had invited us to his farmland that morning. Papa, insistent on keeping Michael sane and suitable for meeting his first-born child, had asked Mama and I to accompany Edith in one car. He, Michael, and Tom travelled in the other; Granny and Isobel had decided to meet us at the Dower House after the matter.

During the drive, my sister was in tears. "Marigold is sure to have forgotten me... And as for Michael, she doesn't even know him!"

"My darling," I assured her, "This may not be an easy transformation, but it will find its own rhythm. Time will tell, I promise." I wiped my hair away from my face; my head had been down at the level of my sister's bowed head, for she had not the strength to observe the outside world from the window.

Mama leant forward to place a hand on Edith's lap. "Michael intends to marry you. Once all are in accord with that, we will make arrangements -"

"But not everyone approves of our mistake!" argued my sister, startling our chauffeur so much that he hammered on the brakes. "My apologies, Lady Grantham," spoke he shortly after. "Is everything all right?"

By this time Edith and I were tightly holding on to the other's hand. I looked at her once the chauffeur had enquirer about her, whereupon my sister replied, "We are fine. Thank you."

Our destination met our eyes only after five more minutes; as soon as we could spot the mellow creek accompanied by two modest buildings - one a barn, the other a house - Edith had begun to tremble.

Mama looked at me. I could read her lucid expression; it commanded me to provide my sister's comfort. So I turned to Edith, softening my countenance and clearing my nerve-stricken throat. "You must remember my darling..." I paused as she raised her head to my level; her expression undid all constraint I'd managed to hold in my tears. "Remember," continued I, "that Matthew always supported you. He loved you, his cousin and his sister-in-law... He _cared_ about you, Edith."

The car had gradually come to a stop; unconscious as I was of this, Mama had to nudge me. I nodded, not looking at her, and proceeded with my speech. Edith had felt the effect of my words about Matthew, but she gazed upon me with eagerness to hear more.

"Never forget whatever Matthew told you; he always had something...something _wonderful_ to say about your accomplishments, your..." I couldn't continue. Both my sister and I had sprung a decade's worth of agonising tears, and we could neither comprehend the present time nor return to it.

Thankfully Mama understood the value of the moment for her children; Edith embraced me slowly, quietly. For a moment I wondered how rare such a gesture was between us; but shortly I had the good fortune to hear her utter these words: "I feel almost as if Matthew is here...because _you_ are...here, with me." She leant back, her lips curving into the most miraculous smile I'd beheld in months.

I was speechless. We climbed out of the car with the help of our slightly shaken chauffeur; his hands reached to help my sister out of the car, but I noticed they were unsteady at the task. Mama exited second; I left the vehicle last.

This worked to my disadvantage. By the time my entire body had met the outside world, Michael had claimed Edith's hand: they had begun the short journey to the cottage. I hurried as quickly as I could manage, but Papa caught my arm once I'd passed the second car, admonishing me, "Do not run; you will fall." I fixed my temporary attention on his countenance, which I had expected to be rather stern; but instead he looked only concerned, and this relaxed me.

It was reassurance that Papa would be in good behavior - and in good senses - during the forthcoming tribulations of the morning.

But I was wrong.


	5. Five

By the time I'd entered through the Drewe family's doorway, Edith and Michael were already being led to the kitchen by a fair-skinned, young lady. I presumed her to be Mrs. Drewe; her children, too, were flooded round her legs as she attempted to introduce herself to Michael.

I perceived our dropping-in was not entirely a delight to the farming family; no, we were nothing but a disappointment, and Mr. Drewe's eyes shone with irritation. "You must forgive us, Drewe," apologised Papa, extending his arm to shake the farmer's hand. Drewe took it after a second's pause.

Mama had finally made it through the doorframe. "We're so glad you could afford this time to talk with us, Drewe. Edith's news is still all quite startling to us, but we're glad to know that you've cared for the child since birth."

"Not since birth, your ladyship," corrected Drewe. He fidgeted in his stance among my parents, Tom, and me. "Lady Edith's let me and Mrs. Drewe care for her daughter for that long. We received the baby last month; a woman brought her back to England -"

"Brought her back?" Papa blasted, perhaps too loudly for Mrs. Drewe's taste. From the kitchen I watched her head shoot up at my father's ejaculation. She shook her head very stiffly and returned to speak with Edith and Michael.

Our irritated farmer snapped out of his tone for a moment; he leant in to whisper to Papa, "Switzerland, your lordship. When Edith explained to me last night about her relation to little Marigold, she revealed how she'd gone out-of-country to give birth. Her aunt accompanied her -"

"Rosamund?" wondered my father aloud. Mama put a hand on his arm and smiled nervously at Mr. Drewe. "We are grateful to you for watching our granddaughter. I hope it isn't too uncomfortable that Marigold's father -"

"Hmph," grunted the farmer. He averted his gaze from my parents to his wife, and surprisingly their gestures connected. He seemed to want a different environment than the one we'd so immediately imposed upon his house (as we were but hardly through the front-door); and so we obeyed the man once he'd sent us to the living-room. "I'll go to get Marigold," he muttered; and the man vanished from our sights into an unknown area of the house.

"Please sit down," instructed Mrs. Drewe to my family, who were all rather ignorant of the hosts' desire to hurry us away. Tom and I sat opposite Mama and Papa on a small sofa; the furniture was run-down, the walls reeked with need for renovation, and the rugs were so rough that I cursed under my breath when the Drewe children came to play atop it.

Edith and Michael would not seat themselves, even while a stool and a chair lay vacant in the room. "Why don't you both take a seat?" suggested our host. I believe my sister had heard the mild disgust in Mrs. Drewe's voice, whereupon Edith decided to obey. Michael needed not sit, however, because the scratchy cry of a very new-born baby filled our ears.

Edith jumped up from the stool like lightning. There she was: my second niece, tiny and beautiful and unaware that her father stood in her presence for the first time. Edith cried out, "Oh, Marigold! Darling, Mummy's here!" Mr. Drewe let my sister relieve him of the wailing child, who appeared to me still awfully small for a four month-old. I remember recalling George's height at four months, and the comparison of his to Marigold's practically frightened me.

As for Mr. Gregson, his figure was frozen in the lively air that surrounded him. He'd been facing the doorway ever since settling into that living-room, so I could only see half of his face. It was stone, unmoving. A silence crept upon the room once Marigold stopped her vocalisation; sure enough, Papa and Mama were poisoned with this stillness. I felt everything before me had turned static and cold, which rendered my speech very stupid: "Are you going to meet her, Michael?"

He snapped out of his trance. "Oh! yes, of course..." Now his face warmed up, and I could finally relax. Tom nudged me; I looked at him, but he only pointed back to Edith and Michael. I stifled the tears when at last I saw the three of them together:

The baby was nestled between their chests, so close was Michael to my sister. The mere sight of my youngest-living sibling cradling a baby I knew to be hers - the radiance of her countenance as she beamed at Michael, as perhaps I'd done to Matthew not long ago - set my mind apart from all extraneous forces of my life at that time. _No more worrying about estate matters,_ I thought. _Nothing compares to the beauty of Michael's soft kiss on the baby's porcelain cheek, and the brightness of Edith's smile at him and the baby._

I marvelled at my sister's moment of glory for so long that before I knew it, I was the last of my family to get up and meet Marigold. Vaguely did I notice - as I passed by my parents and my hosts - the uncomfortable looks on the Drewe family's faces.

When my sister saw me approach, she readjusted the child in her arms and offered, "Would you like to hold Marigold?" I grinned, doing the best I could manage to maintain composure, and reached to accept the baby. My niece felt especially light in my arms, since at the time I'd been more accustomed to George's weight. Michael stood by me, refraining from taking his focused eyes off of his daughter.

The baby was a darling to me that day; I'd expected Marigold to whine or bawl in my unfamiliar arms, but some external force brought luck to me in that moment. I gently rubbed the baby's belly and held her feet in my hand. "I'm surprised you named her after me," I remarked wittily. My sister frowned, then smiled upon recognising my humour.

"No," she denied; "Marigold is a completely different name. I named her after Michael's favourite flower." Edith glanced to her left, contacting Michael's admiring eyes.

It was at this instant that I wish they'd kissed; they deserved it now, after all they'd been through. Perhaps it was then that my entire perception of Edith and Michael's mistake had slipped out of my head. It was a lovely new way of thinking: I no longer held anything against these two people who had reunited as three. Marigold continued to be a darling in my arms, and momentarily I'd felt that nothing could tear any of us apart from this perfect, story-book ending.

All until these words diffused across the dark living-room: "The baby will not grow up with her parents."


	6. Six

"I beg your pardon?" Michael Gregson's face turned frightfully pale. He averted his gaze to find Edith, and it destroyed him when she confirmed Mr. Drewe's statement.

Slightly aroused, Michael took giant steps toward our host; Drewe, whose wife now cradled my niece, stuttered something just as Papa interfered in effort to pacify Gregson. "Now, man, let's all take a step back. Drewe, would you please explain to Michael Gregson the conditions on which your family adopted the child?"

"Adopted?" blurted the torn father, managing a sarcastic chuckle. "How could it happem that my own damned _child_ cannot return to the custody of -"

"Heavens, Michael!" shouted Mama. "You are in no place to speak in such a way; especially when children are -"

"Let them hear, for all I care!" interjected Michael, exponentially losing control of his self-discipline. Mama was furious at the man's remark.

"Robert, we're leaving," announced she. "Mr. and Mrs. Drewe do not deserve this in their own house."

Whilst Mama was fuming, I locked eyes with Edith and Mr. Drewe, eager to proceed in what I believed to be an essential conversation between families. "Mr. Drewe," I pressed, "perhaps you and Mrs. Drewe would be so kind as to enlighten Mr. Gregson; he is unaware of Edith's previous arrangements." It was a dangerous request - considering the state of Mr. and Mrs. Drewe's tolerance level, which had seemed to have plummeted drastically - but I knew that my sister's fiancèe deserved to hear more. After all, the situation had stirred up the worst in the poor man, and to this day I commend him for his passionate desire to reclaim his illegitimate child.

Of all the misfortunes that could have transpired, Mr. Drewe chose the worst. "No," he uttered, almost too quietly for all to hear.

Tom had - by this point - accumulated enough dislike for Mr. Drewe to send a blow at him. "I don't believe there's another option, Drewe," he challenged. "My sister-in-law and her fiancèe have been severed for too long to -"

"You _are_ getting married, then?" cut in Mrs. Drewe. Her arms firmly secured Marigold within her embrace, and this sent an excruciating jolt of pain down my throat. For several minutes I had exercised every bone in my body to believe that these people would willingly return Edith's baby to her and Michael. The defensiveness in Mrs. Drewe's eyes proved me wrong.

Michael had been taken off-guard when Mrs. Drewe had asked about his prospective marriage to my sister. "Of course," he answered in a whisper; although his volume crescendoed into a dramatic voice that I'd never heard before. "I love Lady Edith Crawley...so much that I lived for a year in another country, just to earn the right to marry her! And as for our child," he continued, now directing his dominating speech toward Mrs. Drewe. "There is nothing on this earth that dares to torment me as does this inability to raise my daughter with her real mother!"

He stopped to swallow his anger; but the action proved horrid, as I beheld in him a monstrous façade that brought silence into the room. Mrs. Drewe surrendered with a grunt, hurrying away and gesturing for her young children to follow. They made haste.

Nothing was left but for Michael to weep; I simultaneously appreciated and dreaded this action, since its embarrassment put Mr. Drewe to shame immediately. "I am done with this," he muttered solemnly. Meanwhile, Edith trudged across the carpet to embrace Michael. I moved not an inch.

My father's expression was priceless; he truly felt sympathetic for Michael, but reason urged him to appear disappointed yet relieved that Mr. Drewe hadn't spoken a word more. "Come, Cora," he announced amid the uncomfortable silence. A chill entered the air once Mr. Drewe had opened the front-door. I decided to accompany Tom on our pleasant journey out of the cottage.

Somehow Tom and I had ended up in front of Michael and Edith; upon noticing this, I turned round to call to my sister. I started gently, "Come, Edith dear -"

My words were not heard. She and Michael were still near the cottage, on the dirty ground. Faintly I could detect Edith's damaged voice: "Oh, Michael... What are we to do?" They sobbed as if the world had disappeared before their eyes.

In a way, it had.


	7. Seven

I'd decided to leave Michael and Edith alone for the afternoon. The sky had grown rather dark, which caused Mama and Papa to reconsider their plan to take a walk with the heartbroken parents.

Dreading every moment of the solitude that cursed me from noon until three o'clock, I resolved to visit George and Sybbie in the nursery. My strides were heavy, since the anxiety I'd gained from the unnervingly quiet house made me want to hurry as fast as I could into the safety of a noisier room. Before I had reached the nursery door, however, I heard a painful, masculine cough from inside Edith's bedroom.

"Edith...?" I had already developed an idea as to who accompanied her, but my curiosity had prevented me from leaving the scene without confirmation. And there Michael was, his right arm round my sister alongside her on the bed. Their backs faced the door; my voice, therefore, caused Edith to turn in panic. "It's you," she sighed, releasing the stiffness in her figure.

Her fiancèe got up from the bed and apologised quickly. "Lady Mary, please forgive my unmannerly presence -"

"Nonsense," I argued, upset by his presumption that I disapproved of his efforts to comfort Edith. "You must stay; God knows how important it is for you and Edith to be together right now." Beginning to feel awkward under the doorframe of my sister's bedroom - especially since an grown man stood before me, in my younger sister's territory - I forced a smile at the two of them and announced, "If you'll excuse me, I was just on my way to -"

"Your ladyship?" I sensed a tall, bold presence behind me; it was Barrow. Turning away from the room's entrance, I came face-to-face with the former-footman and nodded. "Can I help you, Barrow?"

"I've come to fetch Mr. Gregson, milady," declared the servant. "I had the feeling he would be somewhere near Lady Edith -"

"What's this?" Michael slid past me - as I had halted in front of the door frame - and entered the hallway. I thought his tone of voice rather harsh, an observation of which I was to make sense once Barrow had explained the situation.

"A man from your former office in London has called about you, sir," was Barrow's reply. "He's on the line right now, if you'll speak to him."

Edith's interest had become apparent, as she had by that point positioned herself safely behind Michael. "What do they want?" Gregson wondered aloud, to no one in particular. "Do you know who it is that's called?"

"A 'Mr. Holt', sir," confirmed Barrow. "He seems a bit upset about your coming to Downton first, without informing any of your colleagues -"

"That will be enough, Barrow," I decided abruptly, noticing the fury that had begun to accumulate in Michael's face. Edith held the man's arm and told him, "I'll come."

Michael looked at me blankly. "I don't know what to tell them. We're not going to London, but... I just don't know what to say."

"Perhaps it would be best to deny this 'Mr. Holt' any conversation for now," I proposed. Michael nodded in approval of my suggestion and verified this with Barrow: "You will tell Holt that I am unable to speak at the moment. If he protests about it, simply tell him that I am temporarily incapable of discussing my foreign affairs." He turned to Edith. "But I suppose I can't avoid a meeting with him for long." He cocked his head toward the servant. "Thank you for your cooperation. I do appreciate it."

Having known Barrow for more than a decade, I understood the expression on his face: pure discontent at having been instructed by a man whose circumstances and exploits worked against his favour. But the former-footman nodded and pursed his lips into a half-smile; in seconds he was halfway down the flight of stairs.

I soon forgot about him and reverted my concerns to those of Michael. "Do you think these colleagues of yours will travel here, since somehow they know you traveled here?"

Gregson put a hand to his forehead and shook his head. "I cannot comprehend all of this. I arrive here only days ago and learn that I'm a father, then today we suffer that chaotic morning..." He smiled sadly at me; the translucency of his internal agonies pained me most grievously. My sister embraced him unashamedly in front of me, but I did not care: even if we _were_ in the hallway.

I craved to see everything work out for those two - those poor, heart-wrenched people whose lives were inches yet miles away from being perfect. They had a complete family - mother, father, and daughter - but for some reason fate wouldn't loosen its grasp on the latter. I inhaled in my overwhelmed state. "It isn't fair, is it?" I thought out loud.

Edith glared at me. "How can you even understand, Mary? Sure, Matthew's dead and your son's almost always in the nursery...but I've had to suffer months unknowing whether Michael truly was dead! And now our darling little girl is slipping from our fingers! So how - _how,_ Mary? - can you understand the torment -" She stopped once the door to Papa and Mama's room had clicked open. I didn't suspect they'd heard the content of Edith's rant, but I hoped they would ease the tension that had quickly built between me and my sister.

Michael had - just as I had done - remained as still as the centuries-old paintings that hung on the walls around us. I suddenly experienced a sense of claustrophobia, and without warning I hurried away from Michael and Edith, seeking fresh air away from the heated hallway. Whilst I'd walked away, my eyes had viewed the faintest amount of regret in my sister's dilated eyes. I pitied her.

No, I was not mad. Her words had stung, sure enough; but I was not mad.

She was correct: I had _not_ the ability to comprehend how horribly wretched her situation had been, and even now I cannot come to imagine the excruciation brought on by physical separation from two beloved people.

...

It was midnight when I'd heard the noise. First my intuition had been to collect George from the nursery; but I suddenly realised that I'd taken my son into my room that night, having remembered the weight of Edith's words: _Your son's almost always in the nursery..._

"Darling, Mummy's here," I cooed to my son, replacing his blanket over his body. I had already begun to hate that overcast night; it was chilly, and I cursed myself for not having asked Anna for a fire earlier that night. George wiggled slightly in my arms, whereupon I readjusted him so that he was pressed tightly to my chest. "Shh, darling," I whispered; more noise from outside ensued, and the baby started to whine. _God, please let Sybbie be with Tom,_ I mused in pure fright.

Heart pulsating with a scary intensity, I rushed over to the window in my bedroom. The drapes blocked my sight, but clearly there was a glaring light from outside. Utilising my free left hand to unblock my vision, I yanked the drapes to the left and strained my exhausted eyes to see. Tens of policemen were out on the grass adjacent to the driveway. "Oh God," I blurted. Not wanting to let go of my disconcerted child, I took the risk to crack my bedroom door open; the volume of those previous shouts and cries instantly increased, but my body would not move to lock myself back in my safety-zone.

"That's it, Mr. Gregson, thank you..." Several people were crowded round the right-hand side of the hallway, which was closest to the staircase. I cringed when my sister's voice hollered, "Get away from him! You have no right -"

"Milady, get off of this man! _You_ have no authority in the decision of the German police!" The mob started down the stairs; this soon revealed to me the destructed face of Edith, along with a perplexed Tom and Papa. Mama clutched Sybbie to her breast whilst the tears fell from her eyes.

My vulnerable position rendered me visible to my family, whose eyes detected me and George after moments of weeping and cursing. "Mary," Tom uttered, alarmed by what I soon discovered to be a touch of blood on my face (the result of a scrape I'd earned in the chaotic seconds of scrambling out of bed). "What happened?" he asked, running over to me.

"Nothing!" I exclaimed. "Where are they taking Michael?"

Edith - who had meanwhile succeeded to break away from Papa's firm grasp - interjected in combined consternation and vexation, "What does it matter to _you?_ I take it you chose to remain in the safety of your room for -"

"I'll not have this anymore!" barked my father, beads of sweat dripping down from his brow. I admit his air of distress took me by surprise; but his proceeding assertion soon explained his disposition.

"Michael is a wanted man," Papa announced, his tone no softer than the former. "There will be nothing spoken of this to anyone outside this house until we know more about his crimes."

Edith cried, "You speak as if he's done a thousand sins or more! Why does everyone assume he's nothing more than a criminal?"

"That is nowhere to being true, darling," I tried, though this reply earned me a ghastly glare. I still could not blame her for her words and actions, since all I could imagine when I gazed upon her figure was the precious face of her month-old daughter. Already the child resembled her mother in every beauty Edith possessed. I gulped down the tears whilst my sister continued her fixed gaze upon my eyes.

Mama had endured enough by the looks of it; she turned round to take Sybbie to the nursery. "Mary, come with me," she ordered. I obeyed.


	8. Eight

It was a matter of pure luck that forced me to sleep that night. How I'd had the energy to lock away the tragedy with which my dear sister had been plagued, I cannot know. The following morning was a silent one.

I had chosen to appear at the dining-table for the morning repast, although this proved to be a rather horrid decision. Papa and Mama were arguing when I'd entered the room, obviously concerned about the previous night's activities. Carson stood frozen beside the buffet.

Nodding to my parents and then to the butler once I'd gone in, Papa threw his table-napkin onto the table and furiously got up from his chair. "Papa, wait," I stopped him. He jerked his head toward me, and this was when I detected the wetness surrounding his eyes. I gulped before proceeding. "What can I do to help? Does Edith want me to -"

"She won't want anything from you right now, Mary; be sensible!" With no further acknowledgment of our unfinished conversation, Papa stormed through the doorway, sniffling from what I'd guessed to be a fresh set of tears.

"You must forgive your father, Mary...even though that was very rude of him." Mama did not catch my attention with this sentence; for I had not yet snapped out of my astonishment, staring still at the place from which my father had exited. "Mary," she spoke a little louder, trying not to embarrass herself in the presence of Carson. I merely turned, however, and shook my head.

"He's not happy because Edith isn't happy," Mama explained, this time using a softer tone. I took short, tentative strides toward the dining-table to sit down across from her; she managed a sad smile in my direction. "I know you grieve for your sister's sorrow. We all do. It's too much for her."

"I agree, and so we mustn't give up on Michael," I pressed. My breakfast was not below me, which prompted my brief journey to the buffet to collect its contents. "Besides," continued I, pouring tea into my cup, "Marigold deserves to live with her mama _and_ her papa, now such is possible." In moments I was back in my seat, gazing hopefully at my mother for her assurance that Marigold's future _would_ in fact consist of her birth-parents. Mama inhaled nervously before her confession:

"I don't think the Drewe family will allow it."

This put my breathing to a temporary halt. _Why is Mama so unwilling to fight?_ I'd questioned myself, painfully coming to the conclusion that my mother's predictions were valid. After the unsuccessful reunion at Mr. and Mrs. Drewe's farm, it seemed logical to imagine that the foster parents for my sister's child would never part with Marigold. "Is there anything I can do to persuade them otherwise?" asked I, the desperation in my voice scaring me. Here I was, pushing for an illegitimate child to reunite with its unmarried parents!

Mama pursed her lips, which I observed to be a sign of forthcoming sobs. "If you tried, Edith would appreciate it. But I don't think anything would come of it. First, my dear, we must focus on saving Michael from the German government. I fear he's the culprit of some illegal act, and if -"

"Honestly!" I protested. "Why do we always assume the worst? Michael is a just man, Mama -"

"Mary," snapped my mother. Immediately I remembered that we were in the dining-room, and that Carson watched and listened to everything that transpired between Mama and me. The former rose from her chair, excused herself with "I need to find your father," and left me alone at the grand dining-table. Lonely it felt, as I perused every shape on the table-top caused by the chopped and polished wood.

Carson was my saviour from this boring task. "Eh hem." He cleared his throat, a polite gesture through which he always sought attention. I turned round in my seat and asked, "Yes, Carson?"

"Well, forgive me for being presumptive, milady...but it appears that your ladyship has fallen into some sort of...well..."

I understood the good butler, who has always regarded me much higher than I deserve. "Thank you," I acknowledged, my lips curving into a formal smile. I finally devoured the items on my plate, eating as if I hadn't done for days.

...

That night I heard a rapping sound at my bedroom door. Since the previous night's events had not quite erased from my memory, I did not respond to the person behind it. Again a knock, this time louder and harsher than its predecessor. "Who is it?" I finally urged, hurrying out of the bedcovers in preparation for the worst.

"Let me in, please, Mary," came the muffled voice of my sister.

I sighed in relief. "Come in!"

She did, and boldly too: her attire was not a nightgown, and yet her hair was messier than it would've been for the night. "Heavens, what have you done?" I questioned, reckless with my words. Edith glared at me, but this did not last long; she erupted into tears.

"Darling, darling!" I hushed her, first closing the bedroom door to ensure our privacy. Edith sobbed and sniffled, moaned and clenched her fists. To this day I cannot comprehend the conflict she'd felt at that moment. "Shhh, darling... What can I do to make this better?"

Her bowed head gradually moved upward to face me. I almost spoke again, but her voice projected itself rather boldly: "I want you to come with me...to free Michael."

This stunned me. My head felt heavy, and before I could respond my body began went off-balance. "Mary!" Edith cried, and her hands shot forward to grab my arms. Soon I felt normal.

"Are you suggesting we travel to Germany to fetch him?" I asked incredulously. I knew my translation of the prospective quest was not entirely accurate, as Michael and the police had likely only reached the country's coastal region by now.

"He's still here!" verified my sister. "I had a call from one of Michael's former colleagues; he's seen a commotion at the courthouse in London. Perhaps the German government doesn't want him returning to their country!"

I wanted to grin at this news: Michael was still nearby, and the chances of Edith finding him were in her favour. But I could not bring myself to any sort of happiness, because I remembered the condition of Mr. Gregson's absence. "We may be able to see him, Edith," I started, "but we cannot be certain that the authorities will allow us time alone with him. And as for his potential crime -"

"But he told me his departure from Germany was illegal!" corrected my sister, including a few sobs before continuing with her explanation. "Michael was not supposed to leave at that time, but he sold his belongings and hopped on the ship before they could notice."

"Why?"

"Oh, I don't know!" Edith shook her head in hopeless sorrow. To comfort her, I brushed the tears from her face and kissed her forehead. She thanked me, and although it was murmured speech, I felt victorious upon her appreciation of my efforts.

"I will come," I decided after seconds of pure silence. My sister exhaled quietly in response; I assured her still, "We may not have the chance to see him, but I am confident that we can call attention to the defence. Perhaps we can ask Papa and Tom to come -"

"Not Papa, please," Edith protested with emphasis. "Tom may come if he does not mind being away from Sybbie..." She suddenly recalled that I had a son. "What about you? Can you handle a small trip away from George?"

"Just so long as I return in good health," I answered. Having meant for this to be a humorous assertion, it was a relief when my sister grinned. The radiance of her face - something I only beheld for a fleeting moment - served as motivation early the next morning, when she, Tom, and I snuck out of the house (remembering to leave a note for Mama and Papa).

Everything I could do to bring back such a beautiful expression in Edith's countenance, I would gladly labour for it.

**To Be Continued**


End file.
